Chrysanthemum Blends
by ToastedPine
Summary: Ranma Noir Eva Ranma’s caught in a web of lies, but what makes the lies so strong? It is time for sinners to gather once more behind the curtain of truth. This time, for the mixing of chrysanthemum blends.
1. Failure

Disclaimer: "Ranma ½" is the 1993 copyright of Rumiko Takahashi, Shogakukan, Inc., and Viz Communications, Inc. "Noir" is the 2001 copyright of Ryoe Tsukimura, Bee Train, Victor Entertainment, and A. D. Vision, Inc. "Neon Genesis Evangelion" is the 1997 copyright of GAINAX, Project Eva, TV Tokyo, NAS, and A. D. Vision, Inc. All characters and settings herein used without permission and no copyright infringements are intended.  
  
Author's Foreword: Well, it's been a long time coming, but I finally decided to pull this one out of closet and gave it a shot. I have altered Ranma ½'s continuity by adding an event; it will all be explained later.

* * *

Chrysanthemum Blends  
  
Chapter 1: Failure  
  
By ToastedPine

* * *

Her head really hurt . . . .  
  
The light stung her eyes as she blinked a few times to get her bearings. She could hear footsteps slowing down before they passed her by but did nothing else. Why was she lying on the ground like this? Had the cleansing been completed?  
  
Sitting herself up, she took a good look around. Judging by how high the sun was up in the sky, it was sometime in the afternoon. Out the corner of her eye, she could see an old couple staring back at her, a preadolescent girl in dusty blue overalls sitting upon the gravelly yellow road.  
  
A small wind picked up and brushed upon her small form, causing her to shudder a bit and pull her blanket closer. It was amazing how the sea could make winds cold despite how sunny it was. She took a moment to look towards the seemingly endless expanse of water before her. Even at this high altitude, she could still sense the faint traces of the water below—wait a moment, blanket? She looked down upon the red material nearly covering her entire body.  
  
Holding out the cloth in question revealed that it was actually a red shirt. Probably Chinese style if she remembered correctly. Sister Marlene had shown it to her once when she was allowed to go to the study. "Let there be water and light for the tree," were the words imparted to her. She still could not understand what it meant but she had learned eagerly, because she knew that the more she learned, the more she was loved.  
  
An image of a woman in her twenties appeared in her mind, the very image of the Virgin Mary with her flowing chestnut hair and gentle countenance. They often had tea together . . . why had she thought of that all of a sudden?  
  
The wind picked up again, blowing through the shirt and onto her face, which caused her to pick up a familiar scent. The shirt smelled just like tea from home!  
  
Home . . . The Mansion . . . she really wanted to go back. Her gun was missing and she did not have time to look for it. The instructions given to her for such a situation were clear, head to the nearest rendezvous point for pickup. She checked herself for injuries and found a large bruise on her head which she decided would not hinder movement much.  
  
Gently, she pushed herself up and walked away. Little did she know that the cleansing of blood assigned to her had already been completed by hands tainted with darkness in place of her own.  
  
And in the wake of all that had passed, a child's tears fell unheard.

* * *

PAIN  
  
Agony was all she remembered when she came back and found that she had failed in her mission. She was greeted by the woman who gave her so much love. The brown hair and gentle countenance were still as she remembered them, but there was hardness to her gaze.  
  
From behind the woman came a girl her age, Chloe. In her hand was the missing gun. Sneering at her, Chloe struck the first blow. The blow which signaled her suffering long after its immediate results faded. Women in coiffures came out of nowhere carrying blunt instruments and fell upon her from all sides. She cried desperately out to her guardian to stop the torture, promising to do anything, but relief never came.  
  
"Please . . . I'm sorry." She begged weakly.  
  
As if by some miracle, the woman turned around. This time, the steely gaze had vanished and the wall of sadistic strangers parted to make way. The older woman knelt down and caressed her tear streaked face before gracefully pulling away. "There is hope for you yet little one. Know that I have not abandoned you my dear Kirika."  
  
Her suffering never stopped until years after that fateful day. Battered to near breaking point by brutal training, her only comfort at night during those cold lonely years was a red Chinese shirt, and memories of a loving woman enjoying tea with her.  
  
Eventually, Kirika surrendered herself to oblivion's merciful embrace.

* * *

Evening came peacefully to Nerima. No super powered martial arts challenge, no destruction, not even the scuffle of the neighborhood's strays could be heard as Ranma walked back down the road. Ukyou, Akane, Genma, Cologne, and Ryouga had decided to go ahead while he stayed to reflect upon what he had just learned.  
  
Three days of training to attain the Hiryuu Shotenha. Tomorrow he could see if all the humiliation was worth it. He could still feel the Strength Sapping Moxibustion now reduced to an irritating mark upon his upper back. He had gotten a slightly better understanding of his ki thanks to the training.  
  
He theorized that his ki pathways were altered so that only lighter ki could pass. Lighter ki he could use for jumping, dodging, and flowing attacks like the Hiryuu Shotenha. In contrast to how Ryouga and the others pumped substantial amounts of heavy ki into their legs to catapult themselves upwards, Ranma along with other practitioners of Anything Goes did the opposite. Making one's ki lighter and releasing it in stable streams instead of having it explode like mini grenades made it possible to move quickly without having to expend much energy. Walking across bridge made of a few sheets of paper glued to a wooden frame suspended on a tree was one of the first training exercises Ranma had to master.  
  
Genma was actually very adept at this technique despite his massive bulk. Breaking into houses had given him plenty of practice, having light feet was a way of survival.  
  
No one else knew yet, but he guessed that the moxibustion could be temporarily overloaded. The price was steep though, he estimated nearly all of his ki reserves needed to be released upon the point, leaving him with just enough to fight normally for a few minutes before collapsing. Being weak for the first time since he could remember had forced him to do some thinking. He needed to be prepared for the worst. Hopefully his ace would have to be enough to surprise Happousai.  
  
Speaking of the old freak, why had Cologne been so eager to teach him? Amazon techniques were supposed to be closely guarded secrets, yet he was not asked to do anything else in return. Just having Shampoo's "Airen" back was too flimsy an excuse. Ranma shook his head, he was getting too paranoid. Cologne must have decided that having him back to normal was in everyone's best interest.  
  
"Mister Saotome Ranma I presume," spoke a voice from behind. It was a guy clad in a dark teal suit and wearing an ivory mask with tiny red slits above the places where his facial features were.  
  
"Yeah, who's askin'?" Ranma unconsciously took aggressive posture.  
  
His danger sense spiked. Whoever this guy was looked trained but nowhere near enough to be a threat. So why was his gut crying out to him to run? His eyes widened. The stranger's aura was creepy, similar to the type permeating maximum security prisons. He had gotten lost once at the age of seven and ended up wandering into one. The warden had been kind enough to let him stay until Genma literally tracked him down.  
  
"I'm part of a certain group who seeks to invite you under their employ." The man's stance became loose, seemingly relaxed as he lit a cigarette and put it into the hole leading to his mouth.  
  
"And if I say no?" These guys were bad news, yakuza maybe? Nah. He had caught the foreign accent.  
  
The pigtailed martial artist could tell that the masked man's face darkened at his answer, "I certainly hope not because that would force me to do something most . . . unpleasant."  
  
"Look pal, I ain't in no mood to be dealing with trash like you." He stepped towards the masked man. At his level now, he could barely hurt a fly. Despite his handicap, he knew he could take this guy down.  
  
"Oh well, do not say that I did not give you a chance to reconsider." He slowly reached into his pocket, "Last chance, you'll regret not taking my offer."  
  
Ranma smirked at that. A gun was not a big deal considering how close they were to each other. "Anytime, anywhere, pal. You can't handle me and I ain't never going to be a buncha rich sickos' plaything."  
  
His only warning of what was to come came as a quiet metallic click . . . a gentle prelude to catastrophe.  
  
Waves of heat hit his back when the explosion came. Fire's roared behind him, taunting him to face a sight he knew would haunt him for the rest of his days.  
  
Nerima . . . was in flames. The fires' orange glow seemed to sprout from the depths of hell, swallowing all his hopes and dreams in one infernal moment.  
  
"NO!!!"  
  
"I told you you'd regret your decision." said the mocking voice.  
  
"DIE!" Ranma fist shot out of its own accord, blasting the man into a nearby wall.  
  
He stood there with murder in his eyes, blazing red aura surrounding him. Had anyone else been around, they would have sworn that the devil himself stood on earth that day . . .  
  
. . .Until the mask slid off and time slowed as Ranma saw himself reflected in the man's eyes even as life's light faded away. A distorted image stared back at him, smiling sadistically.  
  
Ranma sank to his knees and vomited. He'd become monster! How could he have taken a life so easily? There hadn't been any hesitation, just pure unadulterated malice. Nothing could forgive—  
  
His thoughts were derailed by crippling pain. Every cell in his body felt like they were tearing themselves apart. His mind had miraculously put together what had happened.  
  
The moxibustion had finally latched on to the heavy ki and forced it through his channels. Only by reigning in his ki could he hope to survive. He had to calm down, the Tendous and Akane flashed in his mind, quelling his loss of control quickly. He could make it in time, he had to!  
  
He ran like the wind regardless of how much of him felt like his fiery surroundings, but hope plummeted with every inch he covered. There was nothing left but a bunch of kindling. Fire had spread allover the district worse in some places than others. It seemed that the Tendou Dojo was the epicenter and where fire burned the hardest.  
  
Shadows covered him from all sides, running, screaming, begging for help; it was all too much for the inexperienced young man.  
  
It just could not be! Why was this happening to him? What had he done to some Kami to deserve this?! His eyes glazed over, preparing for sweet unconsciousness . . . .  
  
Slap  
  
"Snap out of it!" a woman in what looked like her mid to late twenties screamed. She had a badge hanging from her waste. Had he more presence of mind he would have noticed that her long waist length purple locks were singed from exposure to the raging inferno. "You're a martial artist aren't you? Start acting like one!" Someone called for help and his mysterious purple haired assailant had left as abruptly as she appeared.  
  
She was right, he blinked. Akane and the others would never let him hear the end of it. They probably survived. There was no way Ryouga would let anything happen to them. Maybe everyone already left to lend a hand someplace else. Martial artists were supposed to protect the weak. It looked like he had a long night ahead of him.  
  
By daybreak, most of the fires were out. Ranma had been protecting people and destroying buildings that were at risk of toppling over and injuring those below. He had not dared to risk using a larger Hiryuu Shotenha to put out the flames due to the debris his technique would invariably fling into the air.  
  
He could not move anymore because of last night's strain combined with his earlier self inflicted injury. They had found him lying face first nearly drowned in a pool of his own sweat.  
  
So here he was, staring up at the cold white ambulance roof parked in front of what had been his home, waiting for news. He had demanded that they took him there when he had regained consciousness. He prayed that they were alright, they had to be.  
  
Outside, two women grieved loudly. His heart rate went up when he heard it. He tried to find the source by tilting his head to see past his feet. One of the men holding onto who was presumably his wife was Sayuri's father. Ironically, a fire fighter who had come to Furinkan during last month's career day. Ranma would not remember such things normally, but it was rare to run into a practitioner of martial arts fire fighting.  
  
A tear trickled down his cheek. Sayuri must have died.

* * *

The police officer steeled herself. She had to tell him now or regret it later.  
  
Looking at the clipboard, left her in wonder at how tough the boy before her really was. He had suffered from mild to severe dehydration and did not look any worse for wear, aside from the IV fluid being fed into his wrist there were no other indicators.  
  
She felt responsible and nothing was going to change that, God give her strength to go through what was to come.

* * *

Ranma looked up in surprise at the woman. "Ranma Saotome I presume? My name is Misato Katsuragi, call me Misato."  
  
"Yeah, that's me." There was a tension in the air.  
  
"I . . . do not know how to say this. I'll do the easy part first." She tucked a bit of heat treated hair to the side. "I'm sorry for slapping you earlier."  
  
Ranma felt his body loosen and gave her an incredulous stare, "That's it? You came all the way here lookin' for me just so you could apologize for slapping me?" At any other time, he may have considered it a miracle considering his passed experiences of being slapped for no good reason.  
  
Her answer froze his veins solid, "No . . . ."  
  
She looked away and said, "No one could've survived. There were six dead and what looked like the remains of a very large animal so far." She handed him the objects she had been holding her black hands. "I went through everything as best I could. These should've been held as evidence but I figured the forensics division wouldn't need these as much as you do."  
  
A pair of broken glasses, a yellow bandana, a partially melted mini- spatula, and a square tin weighed almost nothing in his hands. He felt numb until the full meaning of everything sank in.  
  
There was nothing else to do. He lunged towards the nearest source of possible comfort and wept.  
  
The good officer's surprise did not last long from being pinned against the wall; she soon wrapped her arms around the unfortunate teenager and cried her own tears of sorrow. I'm sorry Ranma. I'm sorry for not being able to save them.

* * *

The stars looked so beautiful, mocking her misery. She had lost almost everyone and had found out that she had been betrayed. The betrayal itself was not such a big deal in light of recent events. Ryouga had made up for it by laying down his life; she was ashamed of what her reaction had been to the discovery.  
  
She wheeled herself to face various electronic monitors, looking at the vital signs, listening to the rhythmic bleeping of lifeless machines. Her back still stung from the second and third degree burns. "Nabiki, please come back. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you too."  
  
As Akane went back to her room down the hall, she could not help but wonder where Ranma was, what he was doing or even if he was still alive. Why had their home been bombed? Who was going to pay? She tightened her grip on the wheels at her last thought. There was a way. Genma had shown her something of unparalleled destructive ability in his last attempt to save everyone. If she could piece together how that technique was performed she would be unstoppable.  
  
Calling a nurse for assistance to get onto her bed safely, she decided that now was not the time to think about revenge no matter how tempting. Tonight she would pray for her only remaining family. Searching for Ranma could wait until she was sure Nabiki was alright.  
  
Author's notes:  
  
For most of you, seeing Misato around in what looks like a major role must've felt like a boot to the head. It is still only a combination of Ranma and Noir storylines with almost no bearing in the Eva universe. Misato has her own tale to tell here, a tale which doesn't revolve around angels or NERV.  
  
The Hiryuu Shotenha arc takes place early in the Ranma. I've set Kirika's awakening to happen at around this time. I couldn't match the years together without destroying the very reason I wrote this so I flushed concrete years down the toilet.  
  
Thanks go to Thermopyle for suggesting how to power down Ranma.  
  
Thanks also go to Hitokiriratosai and Mr. Yukatado for their invaluable help as my proofreaders. 


	2. Living

Disclaimer: "Ranma ½" is the 1993 copyright of Rumiko Takahashi, Shogakukan, Inc., and Viz Communications, Inc. "Noir" is the 2001 copyright of Ryoe Tsukimura, Bee Train, Victor Entertainment, and A. D. Vision, Inc. "Neon Genesis Evangelion" is the 1997 copyright of GAINAX, Project Eva, TV Tokyo, NAS, and A. D. Vision, Inc. All characters and settings herein used without permission and no copyright infringements are intended.

* * *

Chrysanthemum Blends  
  
By ToastedPine

* * *

Chapter 2: Living  
  
Bamboo all around her rustled loudly, as if showing their awareness of the disturbance in the grounds which they inhabited. Three men adept in the art of elimination worked together against one teenage girl.  
  
She ran at a steady pace surprised at how easily she handled her precarious situation with reflexes so deeply ingrained they seemed instinct. Her eyes swept around almost of their own accord, looking for the best place to strike. She slid down the grassy slope, not even flinching at being so close to death.  
  
"There!" She slipped into a shallow indentation covered by a particularly dark shadow. With any luck, it would be deep enough to conceal her until she made her move.  
  
Moments later, the hunters slid down in a defensive formation, looking ready to take on anything that could come their way.  
  
Too bad they dropped their guards.  
  
Three shots later, her pursuers fell, unmoving.

* * *

She walked back into her room holding out an ID card.  
  
"Kirika Yuumura." her name, yet somehow not her true one. It didn't matter in the end. Kirika Yuumura was as good a name as any. What was more important at the moment was her identity and how she arrived at where she was. One word had kept going through her mind since the moment she awoke, Noir.  
  
"I . . . am Noir" She stared at her raised hand, wondering how that seemed to explain the terrible things it could do.  
  
Nearing her bed, she saw a neatly folded red Chinese shirt that had caught her attention earlier while searching for clues. She found it hastily concealed underneath a stack of shirts. Nothing else she had remotely matched the article of clothing she held. It was a few sizes too large and mended way too many times to look decent. Maybe it was just trash, but something about it tugged at her. Out of curiosity, she tried slipping it on. Her right arm was about to go in when she noticed some writing on the inside.  
  
Ranma Saotonu . . . or was it Saotome? The penmanship was horrid. She couldn't remember what her handwriting looked like, but she was pretty sure that it wasn't THIS bad.  
  
She was about to put it away when she noticed one of the pockets bulged slightly. Reaching in unearthed yet another clue: a small cloth pouch filled with yellow petals. From their feel, they weren't too old. They had a sweet aroma to them, something . . . familiar.  
  
She quickly stuffed the pouch back. Time enough for idle thoughts later. She needed some rest and some time to say goodbye to the life she once had. With a sigh, she changed out of her clothes. One more week pretending to be a normal girl would be enough . . . then she could move on.

* * *

Misato pushed her way into her humble abode, the cans strewn about in the door's path complained loudly at the rough treatment. "It's a little dirty, don't mind it though."  
  
Ranma held back comment. He could not believe someone like Misato lived in such a bad neighborhood or that he could earn enough to feed himself for a week by taking in the recyclable trash lying around to the nearest recycling center. Kasumi looked even more of a godsend now. His heart tightened, best not to think about them while the wounds were still fresh. "Are you sure you want to do this?"  
  
An arm waved behind some open cupboards, "No problem, from what you told me those guys who are after you mean business. I phoned headquarters on our way here, the entire division is working on this case. You've been assigned under the witness protection program and guess who's protecting you?"  
  
Seconds ticked by while Ranma digested what he had been told, "Look lady, don't you see what you're getting yourself into?!"  
  
Misato tore her eyes away from the foodstuffs and glared, "I know EXACTLY what I'm getting myself into. Don't insult me by thinking I can't do my job."  
  
Her glare had almost made him back off . . . almost. "Dangit, you could get yourself killed!" He walked up and roughly grabbed her by the arms. "I WON'T lose anyone else that matters. Ya hear me stupid?!" His eyes widened in surprise at what he had just said.  
  
Misato looked away. The discomfort caused by Ranma's grip was trivial compared to her own pain at seeing so much genuine concern directed at her in someone else's eyes. "You don't even know me, you shouldn't be so quick to judge . . . or trust." She felt the pressure on her arms suddenly disappear. Regaining her wits, she put on her best smile, "It's been a long day, I'm sure you could use a bath, taking a bath is like doing your life's laundry you know."  
  
Taken aback by the sudden change in mood, Ranma could do nothing but be led towards the washroom. Soon the plastic shutters closed and he found himself alone. "Life's laundry huh?" He had never heard that one before. Maybe a bath really was what he needed, some time to get things together.  
  
Steam wafted from the water as he soaked. His muscles relaxed instantly when they hit the nearly boiling water. After leaning back into a comfortable position, Ranma's thoughts started slowly floating back. Had he really meant what he said? He had only known Misato for less than a day —no, that did not matter. She had been there for him. He felt it in his gut that there was a connection between them. Something in her eyes when he told her she was important . . . the same sense of loss? An understanding?  
  
His head hurt, looking deeply into things had never been his strong point. He usually just let his thoughts out first and cleaned the aftermath up with his fists. Of course, that was what had landed him into this mess. Everyone was dead because he had been careless.  
  
Suddenly, the terrible memories of yesterday flashed in his mind.  
  
His right hand clenched, he killed a man. The very feel of ribs cracking against the force of his fist came back more intense, clearer than before, so much clearer in fact that his stomach threatened to upend its contents once again. He thought it had just been some sick dream, there was no denying it now. He fought down the urge to hurl and tried to focus, the bastard deserved to die. He should not feel any remorse, guys like that were better off dead . . . so why didn't he believe it?  
  
Ranma decided it was time to get up, he did all he could handle in one sitting, doing life's laundry was turning into filling life's cesspool.  
  
He froze abruptly half way out of the water, noticing that something had changed . . .

* * *

Microwaves had a calming effect on one Misato Katsuragi. She gazed at the instant food going around in circles under the hypnotic dull yellow light and wished that life could be more like observing a microwave work its magic.  
  
A loud shout of "The hell!" broke her trance. She dashed over to the bathroom and flung the plastic shutter open. "What's wrong Ran . . .ma." she was stunned by the sight of a completely naked teenager happily lifting a mid-sized bucket of cold water up and down.  
  
"Hey Misato, isn't this great? Some of my strength's back! At least now I can haul a small backpack an' stuff." His lower member jiggled in agreement as he hefted the pail once more. His ki channels had mysteriously widened. He wondered at the cause.  
  
"That's nice Ranma," not quite sure what he was so happy about but grinning as she continued, "now would you like me to leave you alone or would you rather I watched you get dressed?"  
  
"Auuughhh!" Misato blinked. She had not even seen the shutter move.  
  
Behind the safety of a completely non transparent structure Ranma looked for clothes, only to realize that his only outfit was char broiled and unsuitable for any further use. "Err . . . Misato?"  
  
"Yes stud?" answered an amused voice.  
  
"Haha, very funny." He swallowed nervously. "Umm . . . ya have any guy clothes I could borrow?"  
  
Guy clothes, why would he ask for something like that? She then remembered that his only clothes were probably the mounds of ash he had come with. "Sorry Ranma, I have some oversized shirts though. Wait here."  
  
What she came back with was far less than satisfactory. A small twitch developed as he eyed the face of My Little Pony mocking him with its sickeningly cute beady eyes. "You did this on purpose, didn't you?"  
  
Misato was glad face could not be seen through the plastic. "Whatever do you mean Ranma-kun? I think it suits you."  
  
"Fine I'll wear it, but not like this. I better show you anyhow." The shutter opened to reveal Ranma wearing nothing but a towel.  
  
"Huh what do you—"  
  
Splash  
  
Misato fell to her knees slack jawed.  
  
"At least she didn't pass out."  
  
"I can't believe he has nicer tits."  
  
". . ."

* * *

"Go ahead and laugh Chuckles," Ranma grumped, her pout making her look cuter instead of displeased.  
  
"I-I can't help it." Misato's shock had long since gone to be replaced by unbridled mirth.  
  
"It's a curse okay? Cold water turns me into a girl, splash an' hot water changes me back." He finished through a face full of warm water. "How'd you know?"  
  
"Nope, I just splashed you with some of my left over instant noodle water to see if you could change into something else." Giggling broke out soon thereafter.  
  
A small glimmer of a smile made its way into Ranma's face only to be quashed ruthlessly. Splash "Hmph!" Good thing they were in the kitchen. She would never be able to stand prancing around in such a girly shirt in guy form.  
  
Strays scampering away could be heard outside. "Hmm . . . you should change those boxers. I've got some panties you could—"  
  
"Over my dead body. 'Sides, I turned 'em inside out. They're still good."  
  
Misato wrinkled her nose at that, "Fine keep your smelly boxers, the foods getting cold. Let's eat." They both made their way to the table.  
  
All in all, it hadn't been a half bad meal. There were now enough preservatives running through his body to keep a rotting corpse fresh for the next 80 years, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Ranma tried her best to slow down . . . there was no longer any reason to hurry. She was half way through a box of microwavable takoyaki when Misato excused herself, "I'll be back in a little bit 'kay?"  
  
Her new unwanted guardian came back a few minutes later and the rest of the meal passed silently.  
  
"It's fun eating with others huh?"  
  
"Yeah," agreed the pigtailed girl.

* * *

The clock struck one when Ranma was jolted awake by her danger sense. She snuck towards Misato's room where she lay splayed on the futon.  
  
"Wake up." Ranma nudged. "There's trouble."  
  
At those words Misato came instantly awake. Scrambling over to the closet, she quickly tossed Ranma a pair of loose black dress pants and a white collared shirt. "Wear those, they might not fit though." She said, ignoring her roommate's growl, while squeezing into a pair of denim jeans and a red flight jacket. Taking out a stainless steel security case, she quickly dialed the combination in to reveal a 9mm SIG 228 and two spare magazines which she tucked into her back pocket.  
  
Ranma's eyes widened, how on earth did she get a gun? The way her place was, it looked like she could barely afford to feed herself and here was something she knew must've cost a small fortune to obtain.  
  
"I can outshoot anyone of those macho male cops with one hand tied behind my back. I earned the right to have this despite what anyone else says." The magazine slid into place punctuating her remark.  
  
"I called a friend last night to see if she could get the safe house ready. I don't think they'd mind if we dropped in a little early." She winked. "Car's out back. The kitchen door leads to the fire escape. Move it!"  
  
They ducked and weaved passed the piles of boxes and newspapers on their way to the kitchen. Being a slob did have some benefits after all. Outside, silhouettes moved, some of them casting upon the kitchen window.  
  
Misato paused when she heard the sound of metal clattering from behind as Ranma reached into a drawer, "What are you doing? Hurry up!"  
  
Leaning her back against the wall, she unlocked the kitchen door. Readying herself, Misato took a deep breath and charged forward—only to be greeted by a rain of AK-47 fir from the adjacent building.  
  
"Shit!" She hauled her ass back . . . just in time to see Ranma speed past her, straight into the line of fire.  
  
"Ranma!" No doubt there would be nothing left of the fool hardy martial artist. If only she had been more careful . . . if only that macho freak hadn't been so stupid . . . .  
  
"C'mon!" a teenage voice called. Ranma? But how?  
  
"Look, I ain't got that that many of these to throw." She idly flipped a steak knife up into the air, "havin' a knife through their hands ain't gonna slow 'em down all that long."  
  
They slid down the steel ladders quickly. It seemed like a dead end alley until Misato pushed an old, used cabinet aside to reveal a hole. "Get in."  
  
The other side of the hole proved to be quite roomy. It looked like an old warehouse. Large aluminum containers were stacked against every wall. Ranma followed her companion to one of the containers free of dust.  
  
"Here we go. I kept her here so that she'd be safe and sound." Misato unbolted the front.  
  
Inside was the stuff of dreams. It was a 1967 Ford Mustang GT 500. With a horsepower greater than 335, it was capable of going from zero to sixty in 4.7 seconds. Despite the lousy lighting, the rich blue tone gleamed, offset only by its trademark parallel pair of white stripes . . .  
  
. . . Not that it mattered to a certain ignorant martial artist. Living out in the boonies for most of one's life tends to detract appreciation for such things. What Ranma DID appreciate though, was the sound of hollow metallic clanking that came their way. A grenade! "Watch out!" she tackled Misato to the side.  
  
BOOM! The container took most of the blast, saving their lives in the process. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the fleeting dream it carried.  
  
"My car!" Misato lamented her monumental loss. They were surrounded from all sides. Fortunately, this reduced the chances of her shots missing their intended targets. Whipping out her weapon, she instantly gunned three down.  
  
They charged across the warehouse over to the entrance. Ranma covered them by throwing knifes and keeping the ones who got too close busy until Misato could get her sights on them.  
  
"Let's get out of here!" Misato shot the chains holding main gate. They were able to run through just as a black four door 1993 Mercedes 300 sedan stopped in front of them. The driver moved to get out, but Misato was faster. She slid across the hood and struck the man hard enough to break his mask with the butt of her gun before he knew what hit him.  
  
Ranma trailed her close behind, sparks and debris flying as the bullets missed. Desperately dodging, she tossed out the last of her knives at her opponents. He turned around, about to leap into the passenger side when he noticed the cracked mask and a glint of something metallic.  
  
"Misato!" She pumped her legs faster than she had ever thought possible and fell upon the man in one lightning fast leap. It was over in the blink of an eye. Misato's would be assailant fell lifeless courtesy of a corncob holder through his throat.  
  
Out of breath, Ranma stumbled into the back seats and Misato drove like the dogs of hell were at their heels.  
  
Shaking their pursuers had not been easy as the poor Mercedes could attest. Its rump was perforated with bullets and every surface was scratched beyond repair from passing through narrow pathways no large western built car had any right to attempt.  
  
"We lost them." She heaved a sigh of relief. "We should be there in a couple of hours."  
  
She looked to her passenger, curious at the silence. What she saw made her heart skip a beat. Ranma lay on the backseats, her white shirt long since soaked by the blood seeping out of a gash on her chest. "Ranma!" The car stopped.

* * *

Four leather chairs were placed around a placid fire tamed by human hands. Well worn, yet strong, their history was as long and complex as that of the men who made use of them generation upon generation. The man in the first chair spoke, "So it has begun."  
  
"Indeed." agreed the second.  
  
"She who held dominion over death sends her word." The third held the letter delivering her missives.  
  
A pregnant pause . . . the fourth neither spoke nor moved as was his custom.  
  
"So long as artena sustains the whole of the garden, we cannot act against her. Our hands are tied." The second clenched his fist.  
  
"But will we stand a chance . . . against the two who may awaken?" asked the third.  
  
"Pardon," interrupted a messenger who quickly spoke with the fourth then left.  
  
"It seems," began a raspy voice, barely identifiable to the fourth, "that all has gone accordingly."  
  
"I was unaware that you'd continued your games." The second laughed.  
  
"Over the centuries the title of Noir has been passed down. They have since their very founding stood by our will, ever loyal to the council of elders. They were to us the hands by which we carried sin. It saddens me that a mere shell of a woman could deprive us of their services."  
  
"That which we lost may now be regained."  
  
"By your childish ploy? We need not the ways of old. By the blood and sweat of we the Soldats, the world does turn; connections and power make the world go round. Artena deludes herself with outdated dreams of the Grand Retour. When the body is poisoned, it is better to severe the poisoned part than risk death."  
  
"Do as you wish, the blessed children will flourish regardless. My 'childish ploy' has succeeded. The thread I have tied has proven strong. I need only to let it reinforce itself." The fourth's lips curved upward into what might have been a smile. "Though of little use at present, an anomaly of possible utility has made itself known."  
  
"Oh?" The second was intrigued.

* * *

Three days after the incident, Hiroshi was throwing out burned pieces of his house when he saw an opportunity.  
  
"Woah check her out. She's nothing compared to the usual fare but she's got whole other kinda cute going." Hiroshi tracked the girl's movement, she seemed uncertain of her actions as if taking time to evaluate what to do next.  
  
Seeing as it was the duty of any self respecting person to lend a helping hand, Hiroshi did his with the utmost dedication. "Hey there miss, you seemed lost. May I be of assistance?"  
  
"Actually. . ." her voice was soft and pleasant not unlike the sounds of a flute to the wind. ". . . I was looking for someone named Ranma Saotome."  
  
The boy's hopes faded to dust. It figured, even while missing, that jerk Ranma still had all the luck.  
  
"Ranma? Oh sure I know him! We were best buds. I'll tell you all about it over some tea if you like." She may be after Ranma but he was not above using a friend's name to spend time with a pretty girl! Ranma owed other guys a service for hogging all the hot ones.

* * *

Kirika stared at separate pictures of a guy and a girl then at Hiroshi with a puzzled expression.  
  
He could barely believe the level of cute the girl was directing at him with her innocent eyes. Nonetheless, Hiroshi was able to pull himself together.  
  
Clearing his throat he began, "The guy's Ranma."  
  
"Y-yes, but why did you provide me with a girls picture?"  
  
"Oh her? You don't have to be worried about her." He smirked. "Let's just say that wherever Ranma is, you can bet she's not far behind." Hiroshi could almost see the mayhem unfold.  
  
"Come to think of it, are you another fiancée?"  
  
"Fiancée?" The question seemed surreal.  
  
"Yeah I figured you weren't one. You just don't look the type. So would you mind telling me why you're looking for him?"  
  
Kirika looked down. Her eyes expressed a longing sadness. "A pilgrimage to the past, Ranma could be the very key to discovering the truth about who I am."  
  
Hiroshi scratched the back of his head, "I don't quite get it but yeah that seems cool. Say, do you want to hear some stories about Ranma?" Damn Ranma, you lucky dog, you better do a good job helping her discover herself.  
  
"Stories?" Kirika made masterful use of her lackluster conversational skills.  
  
"Yeah, I have lots of them for you . . . ." And so Kirika spent hours hearing about the person who may hold everything she desired.  
  
Author's notes:  
  
The SIG P228 was introduced in 1989.  
  
Ranma getting some of his strength back was a sticky issue. Hopefully, I've provided enough so that you guys can guess for yourself until I flat out reveal the reason.  
  
I know I said that I wouldn't add Eva world plotline into this, but Fallacies and I managed to come up with a way to work it in. While the changes aren't in this chapter, they will show up eventually.  
  
My thanks to Hitokiriratosai and Fallacies for helping me hammer the dents out of this story. 


	3. Want

Disclaimer: "Ranma ½" is the 1993 copyright of Rumiko Takahashi, Shogakukan, Inc., and Viz Communications, Inc. "Noir" is the 2001 copyright of Ryoe Tsukimura, Bee Train, Victor Entertainment, and A. D. Vision, Inc. "Neon Genesis Evangelion" is the 1997 copyright of GAINAX, Project Eva, TV Tokyo, NAS, and A. D. Vision, Inc. All characters and settings herein used without permission and no copyright infringements are intended.

* * *

Chrysanthemum Blends  
  
By ToastedPine

* * *

Chapter 3: Want  
  
Chips of wood flew off the heavy wooden door from Misato's kicks. "Somebody open up!" She continued pummeling the door desperately while cradling Ranma's limp form.  
  
A bedraggled woman around Misato's age opened the door. "Misato, what are you doing here at this hour? It's three in the morning." She rubbed her left eye, temporarily covering her distinctive beauty mark.  
  
"Please— please save him! Ranma . . . Ranma's hurt!" Misato was breathing hard and her face was covered in dried tears.  
  
Seeing her friend in such a state was enough to dispel her sleep induced stupor in a hurry. She took notice of the lithe girl in Misato's arms and gasped.  
  
"Take her inside quickly. A stretcher's in the third room to the left."

* * *

The blonde haired woman critically eyed her patient. Misato had taken surprisingly little coaxing to leave the room. The field dressing had helped stem the flow but couldn't stop the blood from soaking through.  
  
Cutting away the bandages, she was surprised by how deeply the cut reached. It was a miracle this girl was still alive.  
  
The intrepid doctor worked tirelessly. Surgery was not her specialty so it was fortunate that none of the major organs were damaged. Unfortunately, there were several complications. Each one stole precious grains of sand from the hourglass of Ranma's life.  
  
By the end of the procedure, Ranma looked white as a sheet. The doctor tensed as her patient's vital signs gradually plummeted. She needed more blood but the bags of type-A and O had long since been exhausted. Apparently, she hadn't been prepared enough for Ranma's arrival. A sense of urgency set in. "Don't die on me now damn you."  
  
Where was she going to get type-A blood at such short notice? Calling for it was out of the question. By her estimates, Ranma would be dead in the next 30 minutes and the nearest blood bank was a two hour drive away.  
  
No! She wouldn't lose. There was one other way— consequences be damned! Gritting her teeth, she dug around in her lab coat for a cell phone. She was about to hit speed dial when she heard sobbing . . . .  
  
. . . To the young doctor it was the voice of an angel.

* * *

Misato lay back and stared at the dark crimson fluid being sucked out of her by a plastic tube and fed into Ranma's arm. So entranced was she that she barely registered the shadow over her. "Thank you Ritsuko, for saving him."  
  
Ristuko smiled warmly. "You saved her life. I just helped you along the way."  
  
The doctor blinked, "You know, now that I've seen it, I still don't know if I believe what they told me. There's something important they forgot isn't there?"  
  
"That's Ranma alright, and he's as much of a man as any man I know." Misato managed a smirk. "Trust me; I've had first hand experience." She said remembering the sight she had walked in on. The expression on her friend's face was priceless.  
  
"You didn't . . ." Ritsuko hurriedly stood up and looked under the teen's hospital gown to check what she had seen earlier then turned back to Misato. Irritation crept into her voice, "Well now, if that's a man then he had one hell of a perfect sex change operation."  
  
"I'll tell you later." Misato smiled knowingly. "Whatever you do, just DON'T bring any warm water near him." She yawned. "Let me rest a bit first, I'll tell you later."  
  
Ritsuko looked at her friend strangely but decided to humor her. Misato must've had a good reason to make such an absurd request. Either that or the stress had finally gotten to her. Seeing no other possibility, she would have to consider that girl a male and Ranma until proven otherwise.

* * *

The note, sharp yet gentle, carried effortlessly through the endless expanse of her fog shrouded psyche— a prison without walls.  
  
Kirika looked upon the jet black surface of the grand piano. On the polished synthetic material she could see, beyond the window, the children of the street engage each other in a game she could not identify. There were skies as clear overhead as that which had on some nameless day reflected off a rosewood piano now lost to her. She ran her fingertips against the curved key cover imagining bumps and scratches where there were none. She knew this feeling . . . .  
  
Her body lowered itself down onto the bench. Deliberately, her fingers tested their weight on the ivory keys as if daring the piano to make a sound before it was willed to do so.  
  
The quaint music store took up no more space than a large western living- room. Every inch of its walls were lined with instruments filling the chamber with a strong scent of strings and brass. Taking it all into her the girl forged the world anew with notes from the distant past. It was an unearthly tune of lonely lingering notes separated by intervals of deafening silence. The music seeped into the very pores of the surroundings.  
  
Somewhere along the way Kirika had closed her eyes and let the world fade away. Inside her the song had taken on a completely different meaning. What was this song? Her breathing slowed and warmth enveloped her chest. The notes weren't alone. They were silent and barely left a trace but they traveled hand in hand to form something grander.  
  
She wanted to cling to those notes, to belong and disappear. Unfortunately the components of her frame were not quite as evanescent as the vibrations born of harmony.  
  
Keeping her eyes closed Kirika grasped desperately at the final pattern of notes . . . . As her quiet enjoyment came to an end she heard clapping.  
  
Light filtering through the yellowing glass of the window obscured the girl's vision making the newly painted red brick wall across the street look tired and stained. Slowly her focus fell to the man smiling at her. His face, already round, were made more so by the smile lifting his pudgy cheeks. He was in his late thirties, wearing a multi-pocket nylon vest that hugged his portly frame.  
  
The man set down his large dusty camera bag. "That was excellent miss. You're a very talented young lady." His thick rounded mustache moved with his lips as he spoke.  
  
Kirika stood there stunned by approval directed at her until the full implication hit; she had given life to something, not taken it away!  
  
"T-thank you sir." She bowed while her hand unconsciously closed around the watch in her right pocket. It had just become something of real value.  
  
After having a short but pleasant conversation the two went on their way. Neither of them noticed the thin blade embedded forcefully atop the wall.

* * *

The sky was vibrant with hues of yellow and orange. Everything was bright and alive from the wave-worn shores to the fragrant vegetation growing about the seaside.  
  
A seven year old Ranma scurried out of the ship like a mouse out for cheese. His hair had grown long and was tied back by some twine into a ponytail, and he wore an oversized red Chinese shirt tied down by some cargo rope liberated from the boat they rode.  
  
The shirt was a gift for his birthday. Genma had traded one of his better gi tops to a Frenchman for it. At least, that was what little Ranma assumed. The captain had taken an interest in him during their stay. When Ranma asked why he couldn't understand what the man was saying, Genma simply stated that everyone he couldn't understand spoke in French.  
  
Due to the language barrier, it had taken a full hour to figure out that the owner collected different shirts as a hobby. His father probably would have stolen it, but was reluctant to anger someone who looked important and had no qualms about throwing people overboard.  
  
Little Ranma had a tin in his hand taken from the ship's cargo hold where he had slept on a sack filled with some dried yellow petals and "Japan" stamped in big bright letters on it. That was his cure to homesickness at sea. Sleeping on "Japan" made all the longing disappear for a seven year old far from home. Genma slept beside him on the two other bags labeled "Oolong" and "Hao Cha".  
  
While Genma was distracted with last minute details, Ranma heard the Captain calling for him. Seeing no reason to not go to the nice bearded man, young Ranma hurried over.  
  
Gently the captain led the boy over to the back of a nearby shed where a man in a teal business suit waited. The seven year old Ranma watched as the captain conversed with the other man animatedly while pointing at him. He hoped whatever the captain was saying about him was good. After a little more talk, the man in teal raised an eyebrow then fell into a stance facing him.  
  
'Oh that was it.' little Ranma thought. The captain must've wanted to show his friend how good he was. Well Ranma would try his best for the captain.  
  
The altercation took a little less than a minute. In the end Ranma was on top of the stranger with an upraised fist. He sported a nasty scrape on the cheek but didn't mind while his opponent smiled and looked none the worse for wear.  
  
Raising his hands in surrender the man signaled the end of the match. Little Ranma still looked at him warily. His dad said never to let his guard down even when the opponent played harmless. He watched as his opponent dusted himself off and fished something round and shiny out of his pocket. Walking over to the side the man picked up Ranma's tin and placed it inside.  
  
Little Ranma was about to say thank you when the man in teal gave him a wink and held a finger in to his mouth.  
  
"Boy! Where'd that insolent boy run off to?" Genma scratched the back of his head.  
  
"I'm over here pops!" Little Ranma dashed towards his father.  
  
"What happened to you boy?" Genma asked after noticing his son's scrape.  
  
Ranma was about to answer when Genma interrupted, "Never mind that boy. We still have to find the place and show you to them before I can have my drinking ca-- get money to fund our training trip." The fat man nearly giggled at the prospect of having fat wads of cash lining his pockets. He'd gotten wind of an organization seeking to fund the development of child prodigies. The ones they approved of would be given a one time lump sum with no questions asked, no strings attached.  
  
Behind the shed, a transaction was completed and one very happy captain finally had enough money to completely overhaul his ship.  
  
The pre-adolescent Ranma faded away and was replaced by an older 16 year old form. This Ranma, like the previous one, was strong and full of energy but the eyes were different . . . .  
  
. . . The eyes, which were once infinitely blue and crystal clear, were stained stormy clouds darker than the blackest pitch.

* * *

Ranma awoke remembering her dream in detail. Surprisingly, she did not feel afraid or sick as before— only a dull sadness. Were those the eyes she was meant to have? Killing wasn't supposed to get easier . . . not this early. It had only been the second time.  
  
Determination filled her. She would find a way to deal with her problems without ending another life. If only she had her old strength back . . . .  
  
Attempting to render the moxibustion completely ineffective would have to wait. Her ki stores were drained from being severely wounded. To make matters worse, the stitches on her chest itched like crazy.  
  
Ranma lay in misery. The past two days were boring at best. Misato was a hawk. Being pampered was even worse because of the guilt she suffered from enjoying it.  
  
"You're awake." Misato walked into the room with some pad paper and a fountain pen. "I know you're restless, this'll keep you busy."  
  
Ranma looked inquisitively at her, "What am I suppos' ta do with these?"  
  
"No clue."  
  
The pigtailed martial artist nearly fell off her stretcher. "A little too honest aren't we?"  
  
Misato stuck out her tongue in reply before inspiration struck. "Ha, I got it!"  
  
"Hmm . . . how did it go again?" The older woman tore a rectangular sheet then shaped it into a square by ripping off the excess.  
  
Ranma looked on curiously as Misato folded away.  
  
Misato finished the construct and blew into it to form a paper box. "Here you go!" She proudly passed it over to Ranma who caught it with an index finger and began spinning it around.  
  
"So . . ."  
  
"You figure it out! Do I have to do all the thinking for you?" Misato's annoyance was nearly tangible.  
  
"Haven't thought that far ahead yet have you?"  
  
"Urk!" She grabbed at her heart as if impaled by an arrow.  
  
Ranma let out a breath and stared at her new makeshift toy as it spun on her finger. Too bad she couldn't make it spin faster; it would be slightly more entertaining at least. Her finger movement could only do so much . . . .  
  
Ranma lit up "Misato you're a genius!" She did not know if her idea would lead anywhere but a little experimentation never hurt anyone right?  
  
She focused on the box intensely. "Now all I have to do is . . . ."  
  
'Mission accomplished.' Misato exited without any idea what was going on in the teenager's mind. "At least she's not restless anymore." How anyone who considered themselves manly could whine so effectively was anyone's guess.

* * *

The man who held Soldats' fourth chair looked upon his distorted reflection, ever shifting in the basin of water just as he had over the years. He had used many names . . . and faces— some of which were best left forgotten. Just as well, since he had the habit of 'washing away' anything or anyone who could link him to his previous identity.  
  
Setting the basin aside, Keel Lorenz took a moment to rest his arms upon the surface of his imposing solid marble desk. The stone's low temperature no longer bothered him. He was used to the cold by now.  
  
There was a pile of manila envelopes on his desk, most of which were issues that the other three members requested him to address. His sight was beginning to waver but he would trust no one else to read for him, man or machine. He casually disregarded all the envelopes except for the one labeled "Marduk Project" in tiny black letters.  
  
Keel was pleased by the results of his decade long endeavor. Necessity was truly the mother of all invention. The Marduk Project had evolved from his attempt to locate a child who could serve his purposes against Artena. But thanks to the aftereffects of continuing his project, he had far more options.  
  
The method was simple: the seeds of order would be sown and he would wait for the fruit to ripen.  
  
Of course, the fruit borne could only be of use when divided from the tree in harvest.

* * *

Ritsuko walked into the rich mahogany paneled dining area where Misato sat with a gardening spade in hand. "You still have the old thing."  
  
Misato glared. Her voice was hollow as she stared off into space. "It's all that's left of father. I'll return it once everything's settled."  
  
"I know, I know." The blond scientist waved her off with her free hand while the other held a warm cup of coffee. "You know . . . It's not healthy . . . what you're doing."  
  
"You're one to talk." Misato sniffed. "How long have you kept dying your hair and putting on contacts? I still say you were a better brunette."  
  
Ritsuko's smile was bitter. "I guess that's why we're friends. One clings too tightly to the past and the other tries too hard to let go."  
  
"So, how's Ranma? I expect the same as the last twenty or so times you checked on him during the past hour." Ritsuko's amused expression was poorly hidden— though it did still feel strange referring to the girl they were taking care of as a male. "And are you going to explain how he's a girl?" She tried reigning in her curiosity but the effort was moot.  
  
Misato's eyebrow shot up at the doctor's ill concealed eagerness. "I'll tell you depending on your answer. When will the stitches come off? You don't really need me to tell you since you can ask him yourself."  
  
"I'd rather not . . . I'm supposed to be an unbiased observer remember? I am to have as little contact as possible with the subject."  
  
"You? Unbiased? With me here?" Misato raised an eyebrow.  
  
Ritsuko decided to redirect the conversation. "They have to come off by tomorrow. I swear Ranma's not human." The doctor shook her head in amazement.  
  
"You'll find out a few hours after you take care of the stitches." Ristuko frowned at the response but decided to let it go until she came back later that night.  
  
"Maybe I should go out and do something too." Misato wondered as she watched her friend leave. "Ranma's fine and we're safe for now."

* * *

It was dark out when Ranma heard the sound of someone stumbling around outside her room. Could it be another attack? No, those steps were far too clumsy to have come from anyone with lethal intent.  
  
The pigtailed martial artist stealthily crept towards the door where she found Misato passed out beside the dinning room table.  
  
"Misato!" Ranma rushed to her side. The older woman wore the heavy stench of sake and several other choice beverages on her.  
  
Ranma wrinkled her nose, "What'd you do? Take a bath in a keg?" She gritted her teeth as she tried lifting Misato up to standing position with one arm slung over her shoulder. Suddenly she felt her load shift its weight and shove her away.  
  
"Don't come near me!" Misato screamed.  
  
"Misato, what's the big idea?!" Ranma was taken aback by her behavior.  
  
When she saw Ranma get up and come closer, Misato reached into her back pocket and pulled out her gun. "I-I can't handle this right now! I can't be near you while I'm like this." She finished with a sweeping motion of her left arm.  
  
"I loved them so much and how did they end up? I . . . you have to keep your distance— don't you see? I'm the reason you've seen so much hell in so little time!"  
  
Was she really going to shoot her? What was she talking about? Getting shot by a drunken Misato looked really likely. As much as she hated to admit it, Ranma knew it was best for her to back down. "Have it your way, I'll leave ya alone."  
  
Ranma hunched away slowly, the shove to her chest had done some damage. What she couldn't decide was what hurt worse, her chest or her heart?

* * *

Ritsuko forcefully led Misato from behind towards Ranma's door. "You're not a child anymore Misato. Act your age. As an adult, it's your duty to take some responsibility and resolve the problems you've caused."  
  
"But I don't wanna!" Her friend whined.  
  
"Cute. Now fix this mess so that Ranma will let me remove his stitches. I don't care what started this. Just fix it so I can get some work done!"  
  
Misato stumbled past the doorway and was caught like a deer in headlights under Ranma's expressionless gaze. "Um . . . hi."  
  
Registering who had walked in, the life slowly crept back into Ranma's eyes followed by an expression of uncertainty.  
  
Both knew an apology wasn't the correct remedy, yet neither knew how to proceed.  
  
Finally, Misato decided she might as well go all out. "You . . . want to go out for a little ride?" A tentative smile graced her lips.  
  
Not knowing what else to do, Ranma simply nodded.

* * *

The drive would have led the passenger to an early grave had it not been Ranma. As it was, the teen was too distracted with her thoughts to feel the g-forces resulting from Misato's impromptu attempt to clear her mind.  
  
They stopped by the roadside overlooking a placid lake. It was a brisk night and the crisp mountain air was cool enough to invigorate but not freeze. All was silent save the songs cicada play to the dancing wind.  
  
Misato walked out and leaned her back against the railing. She turned her face to the lake and let the moon's rays caress her features. Ranma followed by casually flipping out the car window and landing a few meters away.  
  
An unspoken agreement was formed and both decided not to begin until they were ready. Ranma felt strange about the whole thing. Never in her life had things been so complicated and yet so clear at the same time. Far too late to put things into perspective now. The gracelessness of her attempts to interact with her loved ones was partly responsible for the cheapening of the time they'd spent together.  
  
While she couldn't yet consider the purple-haired beauty before her a loved one, she vowed silently never again to utter words so errant as to hurt the woman.  
  
Taking initiative, Misato began, "Have you ever had something so important that . . ." She paused to collect her thoughts, ". . . that you'd sacrifice anything to protect it?"  
  
Ranma could not read between the lines, nor could she see past anything but the question itself. What she could do was answer honestly— though that tiny nugget of wisdom had come at a steep cost.  
  
"I . . . I think I had somethin' like that." Her companion stiffened recognizing her error. Ranma didn't appear to notice. "But ya know what? They woulda beat the crap out of me if they found out what I was doin.'"  
  
Misato turned away not wanting Ranma to see her choke back the tears threatening to flow.  
  
"Ah man, what'd I do wrong? C'mon I can't stand it when girls cry." The naïve teen grasped at anything to get the crying to stop. "Ah . . . I know you were drunk last night an' it's no big deal that you knocked me down?"  
  
"You're not wrong Ranma . . ." Misato stared out into the lake, the expression on her face distant. ". . . but maybe I am."  
  
Not too far off a shadowy figure put its binoculars aside and scribbled a few notes.  
  
Author's notes:  
  
Edited this chapter over.  
  
Want, the driving force of all people. It doesn't matter who you are, there is something you desire.  
  
A lot of this fic was improved drastically by the diligent efforts of my prereaders Hitokiriraosai and Fallacies. Special thanks go to Fallacies for patiently showing me the ropes of good writing.  
  
Chrysanthemum Blends is still very much a work in progress so please give C&C. This inexperienced author needs you, the readers, to show him what works and what doesn't. 


End file.
